The Quarterback
by who the hell is patty simcox
Summary: "She can't handle this storm without Brittany to hold her through it." Brittana angst, set during 5x03. Touches upon why Brittany didn't come back for the memorial.


Santana is exhausted.

Since she woke up at 9:00 today, it doesn't feel like she's stopped crying. Everyone seems so lost and depressed. There's nothing for her to hang on to while she tries to cope with the loss of Finn, no steady rock in the midst of the storm. Kurt barely talks, and when he does, it's in riddles and metaphors that Santana _really_ doesn't have the brain power to figure out at the moment, Puck is always drunk or yelling, hell, Rachel's not even _there_. Santana can't wrap her head around how just one moment, one small accident, could totally shake the New Directions out of their skins.

The worst part is, Brittany's not there.

Santana's a little better with this "feelings" crap than she used to be. She knows it's okay to be sad sometimes, it's okay to be a little weak.

But she can't handle this storm without Brittany to hold her through it.

See, when Santana grieves, she's a volcano. At first, she seems like the news hasn't even fazed her. She shuts it all out, closes her mind off from the rest of the world, just trying to live life as she usually does. She's a rock. Stagnant. Dormant.

Then the eruption comes.

All the feelings she's shoved in to the very bottom of her chest burst to the surface, and she shatters. Tears flow from her eyes like lava and she screams, she screeches about how it's so _damn unfair_, how God or Jesus or Allah or whoever gets to take him from the rest of them, so young,_ too young_. Sobs wrench out of the pit of her stomach like she's vomiting hot coals, and she doesn't feel like the sun will ever rise again.

She'll have quiet periods where she can detach again, or when she starts to think that just _maybe_ everything will be okay, that life will go on. It's never long before the explosions start again, and she's sobbing and shrieking and just not _breathing_. It burns her from the inside out, until there's nothing left of her and she absolutely has to stop before she passes out.

Santana's spent the whole day burning, regenerating, and burning again, and she wants nothing more than to crawl in to bed, to crawl in to Brittany's arms and be held and feel loved again. Brittany's not there, though. Brittany couldn't (or wouldn't) leave Cambridge for the memorial week. Santana's not really sure. She knows that Brittany never really forgave Finn. Brittany is loving and kind and so, so gentle, but after Finn outed Santana, there didn't seem to be any more room in her heart for him. In truth, Santana's not sure she ever forgave him either. She doesn't know why she came back. This isn't honoring his memory. This is just a bunch of sad kids trying to pass off as adults, getting drunk and crying their broken hearts out.

Santana's head is spinning when she pulls her laptop on to the bed beside her and opens Skype.

Brittany's online.

They haven't even spoken alone since Santana's birthday two weeks ago, and that was just a quick _Happy birthday! __:) _and _Thanks. _This is her chance.

Santana doesn't even hesitate to press the call button. It's not until she's waiting for Brittany to pick up that she feels the knot in her stomach tighten, that she realizes that maybe Brittany _doesn't_ want to talk to her, that maybe she found a new Sam or maybe being on her own in the real world made her realize what a damn _loser_ Santana is. Or worse, both.

Before Santana has the time to cancel the call and send a quick, _Oops, my finger slipped, _message, Brittany answers.

The blonde is sitting at her desk in her dorm, wearing a grey MIT sweatshirt with her hair thrown up in to a sloppy bun. She waves to the camera, pausing when she sees the state that Santana's in. She drops her hand slowly, a frown forming on her face.

"Hey," Santana croaks, smiling weakly.

"The memorial's this week, isn't it?" Brittany sighs. Santana nods.

"How are you holding up?" Brittany asks, quiet and gentle in that way that Santana's never heard come out of anyone else's mouth.

"Do I look like I'm holding up?" Santana muses with a small laugh, though she just sounds more miserable than anything. Brittany pouts, shaking her head.

Santana opens her mouth to speak, but hesitates. Brittany stays silent, patient, just as she's always been with Santana.

"I wish you were here," Santana chokes out before her face crumples and tears are falling from her eyes again and _shit damn it, she's totally ugly crying._

(Not that Brittany hasn't seen that before.)

"Santana, honey..." Brittany whispers, and the petname makes Santana's heart ache.

"I need you here," Santana sobs, clutching the pillow that her head rests on. "I miss you, Britt, I miss you more than I've ever missed anyone or anything in my whole life, and everything's just so depressing here and no one ever stops crying and you're not here to do the thing where you hug me and rub my back and kiss my forehead and whisper that I'm okay and that everything will be okay and-" Santana rambles until she needs to gasp for air, choking on a sob.

"Breathe," Brittany reminds her gently. "Just breathe, please."

Santana shudders, still choking on air. She eventually finds it in herself to gulp in a breath, letting it out slowly through her nose.

"You're okay," Brittany cooes. "It's all okay."

Santana whimpers. "I miss you. I need you," she sobs brokenly. Brittany shakes her head slowly, her lips pursed. "I need you," Santana repeats quietly, to herself.

Brittany just continues to shake her head, her eyes sad and dark. Santana's chest rattles as she struggles to breathe, barely able to see Brittany through her tears.

"You don't," Brittany just barely whispers. Santana's feels like her lungs are squeezing, tighter, tighter. "If you did... you wouldn't have left me," Brittany continues. Santana knows. She knows she really screwed them over, and she hates herself every day for it. She hates herself for hurting Brittany, she hates herself for flying off the handle when Brittany tried to move on, she hates herself for trying to move on.

"I'm stupid, Britt," Santana insists through her tears. "I'm stupid, I'm so, so, stupid. I need you like I need air, please just come back. Come back to Lima, come to New York, I don't care," she blubbers. "I just need you to hold me and kiss me like you do when you haven't seen me in a long time and-"

"Just stop," Brittany cuts Santana off, and Santana can just barely see that tears are starting to roll down her cheeks as well. "You can't do this. You can't throw me out one day and want me back the next. Do you have any clue how long it's taken me to get over you?"

"You're over me?" Santana whispers, broken.

Brittany just looks at Santana, her crystal blue eyes sad and helpless.

"When I told you to go to New York... when I told you you needed to be somewhere as big and as hot as you are... I meant it," Brittany explains slowly, and Santana can tell by the tremors in her voice that she's just barely holding herself together. "Lima isn't good for you. You didn't have to go back for the memorial. You never have to go back at all."

Some part of Santana thinks that she should feel insulted for all that Brittany's telling her. Of course she had to go back for the memorial. Her _friend_ is _dead_. Brittany should be there too, for crying out loud. It's downright disrespectful for any of them to not be there.

But on the other hand, Santana hasn't done a whole lot of honoring this week. None of the glee kids have. She's just been moping around, crying over that time Finn bought her a burger after they had sex, mooching a couple of bottles of beer off of Puck whenever she really really couldn't handle it. This wasn't good for any of them. It was a disgrace, it was completely the wrong way to remember Finn.

"I want you to go back to New York and make your dreams come true, okay? Get famous," Brittany continued. "Have fun with your _real_ girlfriend," she added bitterly.

"Brittany," Santana breathed. "Who told you?"

"I called and she picked up your phone," Brittany said, coldly. "Said to back off of her girlfriend. Apparently I can't give you what she can, because I like boys?"

Santana shook her head. "I never said that, Britt, I don't know what-"

"You never said it," Brittany acknowledged. "But you felt it."

Santana gapes, at a loss for words. "M-Maybe I did, like, once or twice junior year, but, I respect you Brittany, I really don't have a problem with.." The hard look on Brittany's face stops her. Santana hasn't gotten that look in years. It's cold, unforgiving, totally and completely the opposite of the Brittany that she knows. It's terrifying.

"Why did you call me?" Brittany demands, suddenly angry.

"Because, I told you, I need you, I just need to hear your voice and see the color of your eyes somewhere that's not the sky," Santana cries. "It hurts."

Brittany shakes her head, feeling the tears come back to her eyes.

"Do you not want me anymore?" Santana whimpers. "Just tell me you're over me, tell me you don't want to see me, and I'll leave you alone."

"I want you more than anything," Brittany whispers. "This all just hurts too much. I'm sorry, I can't. I can't talk to you."

She disappears.

She hung up.

Santana's left alone in the dark of her room, with the knowledge that she is devastatingly in love with Brittany Pierce, and that the feeling is mutual.

But fate, which always seems to be on their side, as turned against them.

Santana sighs and puts her laptop back next to her bed. She figures the one thing she can do is heed Brittany's advice. Go to New York. Grow. Get famous.

After all, if you love something, you're supposed to set it free, right?


End file.
